‘I’m worried about you’. A friend rang and said this yesterday, and it was the opening I needed to talk. Things have gotten really, really tough the last few weeks. Running has stopped, yoga has all but stopped and I haven’t been able to write. I’m not sure there’s been any one reason for this, it’s likely been a long time coming and is just an accumulation of trying to manage the last few months, and reaching the end of what I can do on my own.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve tried asking for help. About a month ago now I had one session with a prospective new therapist. It was really strange and incredibly challenging talking to someone new, and all but impossible to get across where I’m coming from. The potted version is that ultimately it’s a non-runner. He wasn’t sure it was appropriate to take me on given my history and was going to get a second opinion from his supervisor, while he wanted me to get the ok from my psychiatrist as well. Over the course of talking to him, and thinking on it the following few days, I realised what a phenomenal challenge it would be to establish any kind of meaningful relationship with someone new, and also how scared I was that he wouldn’t understand me. So that was that, I didn’t go again, and I won’t.
In the meantime I’ve seen my psychiatrist, and meds have been increased again. I’m not entirely sure that’s working out, I’m about two weeks into the increase now and really not feeling good – if anything I’m feeling worse. My mood is low, I’m withdrawn, and if I let myself I will loose a considerable amount of time staring at nothing.
But the real kicker came last week. I had my check in session with the psychologist after a 6 week gap. I never really know what these sessions are for – am I supposed to talk about what’s been going on? Is it more pre-dbt? This time turned out to be neither of these things. She’s leaving, at the end of this month, so last week’s appointment was the last time I’ll see her. My reaction was so intense, and so immediate that it really threw me, more so because I don’t feel like I’ve any relationship with her – I don’t feel any attachment, I don’t feel reliant on her. But when she told me she was leaving it was like ending with Therapist all over again. The tears came straight away, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t look at her, and I couldn’t think. She kept asking what was going on for me, how I was feeling, but I couldn’t articulate anything. I think it was less to do with her, and more to do with the fact of feeling I’m being left, again. Whatever small safety net I had is now gone. There will be no follow up with anyone else other than checking in with my psychiatrist (whom I’m now petrified will leave as well). I’m still on the list for dbt, but still not guaranteed a place. There are more people than places, and most people haven’t even been assessed yet. The next I can expect to hear about it is February. And until then? Until then I’m on my own.
The last few days have been quite scary. I went into a bit of a tailspin following that session, and have felt lost, alone, worthless, directionless, and as though I have no purpose. That’s not a nice way to be thinking. I’m not sure whether the prospect of Christmas is helping or making things worse – while it could be a welcome distraction, I’m painfully aware of the impact my current frame of mind could have if I can’t get it under control. While I can hide it reasonably well from the kids I cannot hide it from Hubby, and I hate the stress it causes for him.
But we’ve been here before, so so many times. We know it’ll pass, eventually. Now it’s all about damage limitation, and not thinking. Thinking will be my undoing.